


make a fine shrine in me

by starstrung



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Post-Dishonored: Death of the Outsider, whale twink loving hours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:14:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24833650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstrung/pseuds/starstrung
Summary: Billie brings Corvo to see the Outsider.
Relationships: Corvo Attano/The Outsider (Dishonored)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 207





	make a fine shrine in me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kinneys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneys/gifts).



“He keeps asking after you, you know,” Billie tells Corvo. They’ve met at a pub on the docks. Billie had unrepentantly demanded that Corvo buy her lunch, since she hadn’t eaten all day, and he had — she’s digging into a generous portion of smoked eel chowder and thick slices of bread dripping in melting whale butter.

“Where is he now?” Corvo asks.

“Back on my ship,” Billie says. She uses a hunk of bread to spoon chowder into her mouth. She still eats like a sailor, unaccustomed to food that hasn’t been preserved in a tin first. Corvo wonders if this is the first real meal she’s had since docking. 

“You think it was a good idea to bring him here?” Corvo asks. Dunwall does not have a good relationship with the Outsider, after all. There are plenty of Overseers who would love nothing more than to burn him at the stake.

Billie shrugs. “Not like anywhere else is better.” Corvo has to concede her that point.

“Besides, he can’t _do_ anything anymore,” Billie says. “He’s as human as the two of us.” Billie looks at the hidden mark on Corvo’s hand, and then down at her own void glass arm, hidden beneath her sleeve. “Maybe even more.”

“How are you sure?” Corvo asks. It’s hard to picture the Outsider as a mortal. As one of them, flesh and blood. No longer something intangible, no longer just a figure of black smoke and a phantom’s hand on his shoulder. He can’t believe it.

“I’m sure,” Billie says, confidently. She would know. “But see for yourself, if you’re curious.”

Something in him is intrigued. The Outsider has been asking after _him_. Him, specifically. Corvo always thought that he was one of many marked by the Outsider. He’s not sure to do with this knowledge that he was special after all.

“All right,” he says.

Billie nods at him, and then doesn’t say anything else until after she’s finished eating.

On their way to her ship, they pass by a stall by the docks, one that Corvo has probably walked by many times before. They’re all the same — selling useless trinkets, passing them off as charms, telling passersby that they’ll bring good fortune. It must be a lucrative business, because Corvo can’t remember a time when the docks weren’t littered with them. He supposes that people in Dunwall need all the false hope they can get, even now.

To his surprise, Billie stops at one of these stalls, eyeing one of the hanging trinkets.

“You know these don’t actually do anything, right?” Corvo says, when it looks like she’s seriously considering buying it.

Billie gives him a cold look. “I know. It’s not for me. It’s for him. He collects things like this, now. Pretty things.”

Corvo doesn’t know what to say to this. He looks again at the trinket. It’s a piece of sea glass, translucent and blue-green, carved into the shape of a teardrop and hung on a wire like an amulet. It catches the light in an attractive way, he supposes. He can’t imagine the Outsider liking something like this.

“If you say so,” Corvo says, unconvinced.

“You should buy it for him,” Billie tells him.

Corvo sighs. “I already bought you lunch. Buy it yourself.”

“I’m serious,” Billie says. “If you’re going to see him, then bring him something.”

Corvo bristles. “You said he’s no longer a god. I don’t need to bring him tributes anymore.”

Billie sneers at him. “It’s not a fucking tribute. It’s a gift. It’ll make him happy, and then he’ll stop looking all miserable at me.”

The stall owner, a wizened old woman, looks very excited at the prospect of a purchase. “It’ll bring long life and virility,” she croaks.

Corvo levels Billie with an incredulous stare. “Really?”

Billie crosses her arms. “Just do it.”

Corvo shakes his head. “Fine,” he says, and pulls out his coin purse. It’s an exorbitant price to pay for something he could have found on the beach and fashioned himself, and the stall owner grins a little too widely when he hands her his coin. He puts the trinket in his pocket, feeling foolish.

When he’s turned around, Billie has already begun walking away, and he has to quicken his pace to catch up with her.

“What is he like now?” he asks Billie, coming up alongside her.

Billie shrugs. “Don’t know how to answer that. It’s not like I knew him that well before he was human. He’s a bit helpless, I guess. Was worried he’d die before I could even get him out of Karnaca. He’s a kid. There’s something ancient about him, sure, but he’s mostly just a kid.”

“You care about him,” Corvo says, realizing it as he says it. 

Billie grimaces. “Don’t fucking say that where other people might hear you.” 

  
  
  


They reach the docks where Billie’s ship is moored. 

Corvo is surprised to find that it’s not the _Dreadful Wale_ , but a different, slightly smaller ship. He wants to ask what happened to Billie’s old ship, but upon seeing the stormy expression on her face, he decides not to. He has other ways of gathering intelligence these days, after all.

Billie shows him belowdecks, takes him to the Outsider’s room. Corvo is almost expecting the walls to be draped in violet, to hear whale bone runes singing, but instead he finds a small room filled with small baubles, tiny polished metal charms that catch the light, shards of broken stained glass, half of a broken wind chime that tinkles softly in the corner.

And in the middle of it all is stood a young man with dark hair and a familiar face. He’s shorter than what Corvo would expect, his shoulders a little too wide, like he never quite grew into his frame. He turns around, and that’s when Corvo sees his eyes.

Human eyes. They’re wide with surprise, his eyebrows drawn up. They’re almost unremarkable, except for the way they seem far too ancient to be in the face of such a young man. They may not be the oil-slick black eyes of the Outsider’s immortal form, but these eyes have still seen fathoms.

“Corvo,” the man says. Corvo recognizes that voice. It’s different — when Corvo used to hear the Outsider’s voice calling his name it felt like it was echoing from all around him. This voice is undeniably coming from a set of lungs, a smaller voice, softer. But it’s a voice he’s heard before.

The Outsider comes closer. “You came to see me.”

“I—” Corvo’s throat is suddenly too tight. He can’t speak. He feels like all these years have never happened — that he’s at Coldridge Prison again, the Outsider sending his maddening whispers into his head. 

“Corvo brought you something,” Billie says, from the doorway. It brings him back to the present. He’s almost grateful to her.

The Outsider looks back at Billie and then again at Corvo. He _smiles_. “You did?” he says.

“Yes,” Corvo says, gruffly, and takes the trinket from his pocket. The Outsider holds out a hand, and Corvo drops the trinket into his palm. He wishes, suddenly, that he had brought something better, something with actual worth, perhaps, or something more useful than a piece of sea glass and wire. 

But as soon as the Outsider sees it, he makes a small voice of wonder, as if Corvo has given him a treasure. He holds it up to the light, turning it around with slender fingers, letting it catch the light. He looks utterly enchanted by it, and Corvo finds himself enchanted in turn.

“Thank you,” the Outsider says.

“You’re welcome,” Corvo says, stiffly. He feels profoundly out of his element.

“I’ll leave you two to catch up. I’ll be up on the deck if you need me,” Billie says. Corvo turns to look at her as she closes the door and he catches the hint of a smirk. Damn that woman. 

The Outsider goes to the other side of the room, reaching up to hang the trinket among his other trinkets, although Corvo notices that he keeps it slightly apart from the rest.

“So it really _is_ you,” Corvo says.

The Outsider’s expression falls a little. “Did you think I was someone else?”

Corvo shakes his head, stunned all over again by how open this man’s face is, so different from when he was a god and was still commanding entire planes of existence. “No. Only, you look different, I suppose. You’re not what I was expecting.”

“Oh,” the Outsider says, standing a bit straighter, angling his head so that he’s looking at Corvo through his lashes. He’s _preening_ , Corvo realizes. “What were you expecting?”

“A trap,” Corvo answers, flatly. “Maybe a room full of assassins, if I was lucky.”

The Outsider laughs, and Corvo is immediately taken aback. He’s never heard the Outsider _laugh_ before. It’s a warm, fleeting thing, suddenly there and then gone again. It lights up the Outsider’s face, making him appear younger for just a moment.

“You of all people should know not to count on luck,” the Outsider says, and it sounds _fond_. 

“I suppose not,” Corvo says. He reflexively rubs at the back of his hand, something he does when he’s nervous or lost in thought. The Outsider follows this movement sharp with his eyes.

“Is it still there?” the Outsider says.

“Yes,” Corvo says, grimly. “The mark is still there, but the powers have gone.” It had been the first thing he had checked when he heard what Billie Lurk had done. He will have to hide the mark for the rest of his life, but a part of him was glad that it was not completely taken away from him.

“Can I see?” the Outsider says.

Corvo hesitates, before giving the Outsider his hand. The Outsider begins to unwrap the leather bindings covering his hand, his delicate fingers plucking easily at the knots that keep the covering secure. His fingers are long and tapered, so wholly different from Corvo’s rough, calloused hands. Corvo finds himself entranced by their elegance.

The mark is there. But it’s faded over, like an old tattoo. Its previously clean lines are muddled now, and Corvo knows that it doesn’t glow anymore, no longer has any special properties. 

The Outsider traces the mark with a finger, and Corvo keeps himself very still, every bit of him suddenly on high alert. 

“What a strange thing,” the Outsider says, almost to himself. “I used to know so much, see everything at once, and now it’s faded away.”

Corvo pulls his hand away, and for a moment he sees grief twist in the Outsider’s face before it smooths away.

“Why did you come here?” Corvo asks. “Why did you ask for me?”

The Outsider turns away from Corvo, a little. So he _has_ learned to hide his thoughts, if only a little. “I wanted to know how you were doing.”

“When you’re human, you don’t get to just look in on someone’s life whenever you please,” Corvo says, amused.

The Outsider hears the smile in Corvo’s voice and turns to frown at him. “I know that,” he says, sharply.

Corvo shakes his head, uncertain what to do with this version of the Outsider who rises to the slightest bait. “And?” he says. “You see I’m doing well.”

“You are,” the Outsider says, his eyes sliding over every inch of Corvo, appraising him. Corvo knows he’s not much to look at anymore. He’s far too grizzled, too old, too bitter. But under the Outsider’s admiring gaze he feels like a young man again.

“Is your curiosity satisfied?” Corvo asks.

When the Outsider meets Corvo’s gaze again, his eyes are bright with some strong emotion. “Sleep with me,” the Outsider says.

Corvo isn’t sure if he heard correctly. “What?” he says.

“I want you to sleep with me.” The Outsider takes hold of Corvo’s hand again, and uses it to pull Corvo insistently towards his bed. Corvo is so taken aback that he takes a few steps forward before coming to a halt.

“I can’t just sleep with you because you ask it,” Corvo says angrily.

“Why not?” the Outsider asks, genuine puzzlement on his face now. “I’ve seen you sleep with people since Jessamine Kaldwin.”

“That was — those were different.” He doesn’t know how to explain to the Outsider that those encounters didn’t really _mean_ anything. They were usually hurried, passionate affairs, over quickly. He barely remembers most of his partners’ names, cannot hold their faces clearly in his mind. 

Suddenly, the Outsider is so close that Corvo can feel his breath. He doesn’t know why he keeps letting the Outsider slip past his defenses. 

The Outsider reaches a hand up to cup the side of Corvo’s face. Corvo cannot remember the last gentle touch he was given. “How is it different?” the Outsider says. “I want you. And you want me.” As if it should only be that simple. It seems that even as a mortal, the Outsider still deals in base desires.

“How do you know I want you?” Corvo says, trying his best to sound unmoved.

“You haven’t moved away yet,” the Outsider says, and he leans up to kiss Corvo. It’s a clumsy kiss, too guileless to be truly enjoyable, and yet Corvo feels a rush of heat anyway, his head suddenly swimming. 

Corvo’s body reacts even before he can tell it to, his arms wrapping around the Outsider, pulling him closer. Corvo marvels at the warm weight of him, the give of his body, the undeniably human smell of him. He walks the Outsider backwards towards the bed.

“Undress,” Corvo tells the Outsider, his voice already gone rough. 

The Outsider immediately does as he says, stepping out of his pants so quickly that Corvo is worried for a moment that he’ll trip and fall. Corvo undresses more slowly, distracted by all that pale skin, the fine dusting of hairs on the Outsider’s chest, the bright flush of red that’s risen in his cheeks, his cock hard between his legs.

He looks so fucking _young._ And then he turns that infuriating look upon Corvo, like he’s already seen every single one of Corvo’s possible futures, has measured them all in his head, every decade passing in the blink of an eye. 

Corvo has no idea what to make of this mortal Outsider, but he is willing to find out. 

He pushes him to the bed, chasing the Outsider’s mouth. The Outsider isn’t graceful anymore, seems just as unaware where to put his limbs as any young man, inexperienced in sex. Corvo settles over him on the bed, and kisses him, and every time the Outsider makes a soft, pleased noise beneath him, he feels as if he’s been set on fire.

“It’s been a long time, since—” Corvo says, choked.

“I know,” the Outsider says. He reaches out to take Corvo’s hand, his fingers wrapping around the faded mark. “I want you inside me,” the Outsider says. 

Corvo’s head spins. He can’t get used to _that voice_ asking such things of him. “That usually requires preparation,” Corvo says.

The Outsider twists, reaching beside his bed. He pulls out a bottle of whale oil. “This is what I use,” the Outsider says. He sees the look on Corvo’s face and frowns. “Is it not sufficient?”

“No, it’s sufficient. I’m just surprised.” Corvo takes the bottle from the Outsider. “You’ve done this before.”

The Outsider lays back, his thighs spreading tantalizingly. “I wanted to see if I would enjoy it.”

“And?” Corvo says, feeling compelled to ask. “Did you?”

“I did,” the Outsider says. There’s something smug about it.

Corvo’s mouth is suddenly dry. He focuses on opening the bottle, slicking his fingers with whale oil. 

When he pushes a finger in, the Outsider’s mouth falls open. He moans loudly — so loudly that Corvo is briefly concerned that Billie will hear it echoing through the ship. It’s clear that the Outsider hasn’t yet learned discretion.

“Quiet,” Corvo hisses.

“I don’t want to be quiet,” the Outsider says, and as if to infuriate Corvo further, lets out another high moan. “ _Corvo_.”

Corvo will never be able to stop thinking about the way the Outsider says his name in that moment, so much pleading desperation in it that Corvo briefly considers sending a prayer. Unfortunately, the only god Corvo has ever prayed to is right before him, and judging by the way he looks completely and utterly _gone_ , he won’t be any help at all.

Corvo adds more whale oil, and then slides in a second finger, then a third. The Outsider keeps gasping Corvo’s name, shifting restlessly, trying to fuck himself further onto Corvo’s fingers with greedy little rocking movements. 

“Hold still,” Corvo growls, and uses his other hand to hold the Outsider by his hip, pinning him down on the mattress. The Outsider lets out a breath, his mouth falling open. His eyes may not be clouded over with void smoke any longer, but they still can go hazy and glazed-over with lust.

Corvo uses this to his advantage, pressing in deep, seeking just the right angle. He knows he’s found it when the Outsider lets out a strangled cry, and then his back is arching into a tight curve as he comes, his cock spilling against his belly.

Corvo is so surprised that he can only blink. The Outsider came practically untouched. There are tears gathering in the corner of his eyes as he gazes sightlessly at the ceiling.

“That was — I didn’t expect—” the Outsider says, and Corvo lets himself feel a small satisfaction at how speechless he has rendered him. He knows it can’t last long. 

The Outsider presses a hand to his chest. “It felt like I was dying.”

Corvo almost laughs. “Dying doesn’t feel like that.”

“How would you know?” the Outsider says. “Being a killer doesn’t mean you know what death feels like. Only one of us here has died before, remember.”

Corvo no longer feels like laughing. “All right,” he says, conceding the point. He reaches to the floor to find the Outsider’s discarded shirt, and uses this to clean the Outsider’s belly.

When he’s done, the Outsider pulls him close again, kissing him with hunger, too many teeth. He shifts deliberately so that his ass grinds up against Corvo’s cock.

Corvo breaks away. “Haven’t you had enough?” he asks, skeptical.

“No, never,” the Outsider says. “I want you, Corvo.”

Corvo braces himself over the Outsider, guiding his cock to that tight ring of muscle. The Outsider throws his head back against the pillow.

“I used to have dreams like this,” Corvo says, panting, as he pushes in, sliding deeper into the tight heat of the Outsider’s body. “I would have dreams where I was fucking you, and I would wake up and I’d still be — did you put them there? Did you give me those dreams?”

The Outsider’s dark hair fans across the pillow and Corvo wants to twist his fingers into it, to know what every part of this man feels like. “Yes,” the Outsider says, gasping, even as he stretches his thighs even wider, so that Corvo can fuck him harder. “I wanted to see — I wanted to see what you would do. My dear Corvo. I’ve always wanted you to be _mine_.” 

The Outsider raises a hand to cup his face again. Corvo can’t remember the last time someone looked at him with such tenderness, such devotion. He always thought it was the other way around — that the Outsider demanded devotion in others. 

How wrong he was. The Outsider has always needed his followers more than the other way around.

He presses a brief, biting kiss to the heel of the Outsider’s hand, and begins to thrust deeper, until he finds a rhythm that is almost punishing. If Corvo were a kinder man, he would go slower, take his time, show the Outsider every gentleness that a god freshly made mortal might deserve. But Corvo was broken of kindness a long time ago, and gentleness is no longer a tool at his disposal. 

Perhaps he could learn it again, one day.

The Outsider doesn’t seem to care, is as happy with Corvo’s roughness as he is with Corvo’s gentleness. He seems to want every part of Corvo, the ugly and the good. He wraps his arms around Corvo’s shoulders, holding him close, urging him on, crying out with pleasure when Corvo manages, on some of his thrusts, to catch him at just the right angle.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he says, into Corvo’s ear. The Outsider is hard again, his erection rubbing against Corvo’s belly every time he fucks into him. Corvo wraps a hand around it, stroking it in time to his thrusts. Neither of them last very long after that. The Outsider comes first, and then Corvo follows after, letting out a muffled groan into the Outsider’s shoulder.

Once he’s recovered, he finds the discarded shirt and cleans them both up, once it’s clear that the Outsider seems ready to languish in his debauched state and not move. Doing this tires Corvo out so much that he lays back down. He’ll just catch his breath, and then make his way out. It’s a long walk back to Dunwall Tower from the docks. He can’t afford to linger for too long.

The Outsider turns towards him on the bed. “I wish I could have come to you ten years ago. Twenty years ago,” he says. “I lost so much time.” Corvo sees the Outsider wrinkle his nose, like the idea of time passing is an inconvenience he finds distasteful.

“I wasn’t the same man twenty years ago,” he tells the Outsider.

“I suppose not,” the Outsider says. “I forgot humans do that. Step out of one man and into another. Change.”

“You’ve seen me change while I’ve known you,” Corvo says. “You’ve seen me grow older.”

The Outsider looks at him for a long moment, like he’s marking the lines on Corvo’s face all over again. “Yes,” he says, finally. “But you were still the same man.” He lays a hand on Corvo’s chest, over Corvo’s heart.

“I wonder what I’ll be in ten years,” the Outsider says, quietly. There is a small happiness in those words. Corvo wishes, suddenly, that he’ll still be alive in ten years to see the man the Outsider will become.

He decides to rest for just a little while longer.


End file.
